Past the Sunrise
by DalstinKyukiMikileyluv
Summary: 5th year au!, Promiscuous Harry, everyone is gay, club au, breaking into clubs hijinks, over the summer, marking, hickeys, intentional bruising, underage (15). Blaise Zabini/Harry Potter, Ron Weasley/Harry Potter, Seamus Finnegan/Harry Potter, George Weasley/Harry Potter Basically just Harry and Ron go dancing
1. Chapter 1

The pulsing lights are brighter than I thought they'd be. Blue light dances across Ron's freckled face and switches from blue to green to purple and back again. The lights are almost living, the way they move. I look into the throng of enthusiastic bodies. It was almost too easy for us to get into this club, underage though we are. Ron grins and grabs my hand. He leans in.

"Dance with me!" he says loudly.

"Why?" I ask.

The noise level isn't so bad away from the dance floor. Some invented charm, which is part of the reason this club is so popular. Ron laughs.

"Why come to a club if you aren't going to dance, Harry?" he asks.

I shrug and he pulls me into the crowd. Wizards peek over their dance partners' shoulders to watch me greedily. I smile as I allow Ron to lead me away. Most everyone is wearing Muggle clothes; purebloods, half-bloods, and muggleborns alike. I suppose it is easier to dance in them. We must reach a spot Ron likes because he stops and closes his eyes. He takes a breath, opens them, and starts to dance. I smile and rock my hips to the beat. He slips his hand down to meet them.

"They're all watching you," Ron says in my ear.

"Let them!" I yell back.

The music washes over us, erasing the crowd and bringing us closer. Six songs later I drag Ron off the floor and to a table.

"How many different articles do you think we'll have in the Prophet tomorrow?" Ron asks.

"'Potter Bent?' 'Boy Wonder Spends the Night in Gay Club!' 'Chosen One and-' have they given you a nickname? " I ask.

He shrugs.

"Whatever, we're having fun, we aren't cooped up in that house cleaning and being babied by your mother, everything is good," I say.

"You do have a point," he says.

"I have several," I say.

Ron walks to the bar while I lounge in my chair and look at the tortured faces of the men clearly forced here by their friends. One notices me looking and smiles. I smile back. He walks over to me, clearly encouraged.

"Hello there," he says.

"Hi," I say.

He sits in Ron's chair.

"Harry Potter, aren't you? What're you doing alone?" he asks.

"Oh, I'm with my best mate. He's just there," I say, pointing.

The man nods, clearly appraising Ron.

"I'm Gavriel," he says.

"Why are _you_ by yourself, Gavriel?" I ask.

"My friends, a couple, they brought me here to 'get out more'," Gavriel says.

I make a sympathetic noise.

"It's not really getting out, though. Take me to a library, sure. That's out. But a club? I'm not much for dancing," he says.

Ron comes over balancing two plates.

"Food!" I say happily.

Ron looks at Gavriel.

"Who's this?" he asks.

I grab a plate and pick up a fry.

"Gavriel," I say.

I pop it into my mouth. Ron tips his head up. Gavriel stands, gives a small nod, and walks off.

Ron rushes to grab our Butterbeers from the impatient looking witch watching over them. I roll my eyes and cram a fry in my mouth.

"Thanks for the food, Ron," I say.

He nods.

"He was really nice," I say.

"He _really_ wanted into those pants of yours," he smirks.

"What? No, that's not it," I say.

He swallows.

"Trust me," he says, "though he'd have had some time of it, tight as they are."

I laugh and flick him.

"They're not that tight," I say.

"Harry, they're sinful," Ron says.

"Hermione got these for me," I say.

Ron raises an eyebrow and sips his drink. We eat in silence. I look down. Sure, my jeans are tight but I don't think they're _sinful_. They compliment my silvery shirt. I tug it down.

"You look fine, mate," Ron says.

I mumble a response.

"Don't you know, sin is in? Let's go before Mum wakes up," he says.

"One more dance," I plead.

I can feel the eyes on my ass as I lead Ron back to the floor. I don't turn to face him, just move. Ron loops his fingers through my belt loops and grinds against me. The music ends and we tumble into the Floo.

"That was fun," I say.

Ron smirks. We climb the stairs to our room.

"The food was good," he says.

We climb into our beds and turn off the light.

"Let's go again. I'll die if all the fun all the fun we have is doxy hunting and cobwebs," I say.

I kick off my jeans under the covers. I admit, it _is_ a bit difficult.

"You just want to see that guy again," Ron grumbles.

"What's the harm in that?" I ask.

Ron doesn't say anything. I stare at the ceiling.

"Let's go tomorrow," he says.

I smile and close my eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Morning, Harry," Hermione says.

Mrs. Weasley slides a plate filled with food in front of me. I pop a sausage link into my mouth.

"Good morning," I say.

"Has anyone seen my sweatpants? Oh- Harry's got them," Ron says as he stumbles down the stairs, half asleep.

I look down at the Chudley Cannons sweatpants I jumped into when I woke up. They're shockingly orange and dwarf my feet.

"Yeah," I say.

Ron places his hand on top of my head and then slumps into the chair beside me.

"I thought they'd appreciate it if I wore pants," I say.

"Certainly do," Fred says.

"Ah, see?" I say.

Ron looks straight into my eyes. I blink.

"Wear them whenever, Harry. I don't care," he says.

I lean my head over and just touch his shoulder with it before setting into my meal. I ignore the delighted surprise on Hermione and Ginny's faces.

* * *

The lights are becoming familiar, I notice as we skip through the line again with a flash of my teeth and a faux casual push at my hair so it flips off of my forehead.

There is something welcoming about the way the music fights to become my pulse. The way my throat is exposed garners more attention than the thin lines of lightning on my forehead. I can tell Ron notices it too. His jeans are tighter today, and his tousled red hair looks more purposeful than usual. There is something equalizing about strobe lights and fast beats, about hungry eyes tracing the path of sweat, and the steady motion of hips and hands in the dark.

"Divide and conquer?" I ask with a wicked grin.

Ron's smile dips a bit.

"You just want to find that guy from last night," he says.

"Gavriel? No, too old. But I see a few naughty Slytherins over there, breaking the rules as thoroughly as we are and I'd hate for them to do it alone," I say.

Ron nods. I make my way through the crowd and and stand behind a tall boy.

"What's a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?" I ask.

He turns to face me, dark eyes meeting mine in challenge. A slow grin makes its way across his face. I bring my eyes along the sharp lines of his body, loving the contrast of his skin with his stark white shirt.

"Harry Potter. I could say the same," Blaise Zabini says.

Around us the wild masses dance, oblivious to the heat he's radiating.

"Oh, but you couldn't really," I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not nearly as nice as you think I am," I taunt.

He pulls me into him in shark-like hunger. I crane my neck up to look into his eyes.

"Is that right?" he asks.

And then we're dancing. He seems to anticipate my every move, mirroring it at every opportunity. Mostly he challenges me, forcing me to push harder and press myself closer to him. His fingers snake down to my hipbones. I thrust my head back and shake my hair out of the way before looking back at him.

"Afraid I'll bite?" he asks.

"Not at all, Zabini," I say.

"We Slytherins are dangerous, you know," he says low in my ear.

I look directly into his deep brown eyes and smile.

"I'm not afraid of you," I say.

He laughs and lets go of my hip in favor of my hand. He twists me around and pulls me into a kiss as fierce and wonderful as our dance. The music fades out.

"Call me Blaise," he says.

"The same to you," I say.

"Well then, Blaise, I'll see you again," he says with a smile in his eyes.

He waves his wand and the din of the crowd surrounds me as he slips off into the night. I stand there shocked and a bit confused. A man claims my hands and I let him have it. What was I thinking? Blaise Zabini may be one of the relatively harmless Slytherins, but he _is_ still a friend of Draco Malfoy.

He gave me his first name.

The fast paced song wins the battle to overcome my pulse. I smile at the man I'm dancing with. I realize I've been passive at best this entire time, and surely he was near enough to be burned by the fire of my dance with Blaise. As the music fades out I wander away. I don't have a destination in mind, really. I see Ron drinking a Butterbeer through a straw and talking idly to Seamus Finnegan. Seems more of us than I've expected have managed to wheedle our way in. Of course, the rules are only technical. There's no real age line to cross, only the line of hopefuls. So I suppose it didn't take much more than beauty and eagerness to be picked before the others.

I think of Blaise. Or money.

"Seamus!" I say cheerfully, "it was just getting boring. Dance with me."

Ron looks up. He takes a long sip. Seamus shrugs; _what's to lose?_ He follows me away from the table.

"Harry," he says.

He doesn't say any more. I tug him against me. I close my eyes and sway. He rocks against me, hands half poised to push me away. I look at him. His eyes darken as his pupils dilate and he pulls me closer instead. Our bodies move together fluidly. That's the magic of a club, I suppose. Even if you'd never dare anywhere else, if the very next night you'd never allow yourself the privilege, something inside is set free. I twist in his arms and press my back against his chest. No eye contact is best. We continue to pretend that we care about the music.

"Harry," Seamus tries again.

I turn to him and he seems at once relieved and disappointed.

"Yes?" I ask, playing at innocence.

"You haven't danced one with Ron," he says.

"Silly Seamus," I laugh, bouncing the tip of my pointer finger off of his nose. He blinked and steps closer again. I smile and trail the finger along the buttons of his shirt.

"We snuck out together and came here at the same time. But I am here to have fun," I say.

Seamus nods quickly and swallows.

"It's just.. he came here for the same reason, but he looks miserable. And.." he says.

I cut him off.

"Then dance with him," I say.

He opens his mouth to speak. The song ends. I stick out my lip.

"Time's up," I say, "and you spent so much of it pleading someone else's case."

His lips find my neck and I falter. He sucks against my skin. I grip his arm.

"I'd say you've won another song," I relent.

I turn again and press against him. My neck is hot and my face red. He laughs triumphantly.

"I could've held out," I say.

"Of that, I have no doubt," he says.

His lips find purchase again. I squirm against the beat, proving I couldn't have won if I tried. He sucks, hard, then releases me with a proud sigh that goes straight to my groin.

"I think I've made my point," he says.

He ruffles my hair and slips away. I laugh my way over to Ron.

"Is that still the same cup?" I ask.

"Is he a boy or a leech?" Ron asks, his eyes on my neck.

I smile, he scowls.

"A particularly talented dance partner," I say.

"He didn't do that when he danced with me," Ron says.

"You've got to taunt him into it," I say.

Ron rolls his eyes and yanks my wrist. I tumble into his lap. His other arm brushes my cock accidentally. I suppress a yelp.

"You're having entirely too much fun. How many have you taunted tonight?" Ron asks.

I lay my head on his shoulder.

"Successfully? On purpose? In total?" I ask with a wide grin.

He flicks my ear. I kiss his nose.

"What does it matter? What are we here for, if not to dance?" I ask.

I stand and pull him onto the floor as a new song begins.

"Who plays a slow song?" I ask.

Ron smirks and puts his arms around my waist.

"What are we here for?" he mocks.

I lace my arms around his neck. He leans in close, eyes soft.

"Your shoulders are broad," I complain.

He presses his lips against mine gently. I let myself lose time. We sway to the music.

"I'm sure Zabini bribed someone for it," Ron says.

I roll my eyes.

"You'll make a wonderful jealous wife," I say.

Ron bites my nose.

"Oi! Who does that?" I say.

"Jealous wives," he says.

"You aren't my wife," I grumble, rubbing my nose.

He dips me low.

"You're mine," he says with a laugh.

I slap his arm.

"No one will dance with me if you keep that up," I say.

He laughs and kisses my cheek.

I yelp.

"It'll be a shame to be kept from this at Hogwarts," he says.

I nod.

We've only a week more of this, and not every night is guaranteed.

The next song is better: faster and sultrier. The slow and easy turn Ron was completing turns into a fast and demanding twist of my arm. I'm pressed flush against him. I smirk and step backwards. I flail my arms a bit, no longer worried about appearances. Or maybe I'm simply confident that he'll never judge me. My lips taste like him, like Butterbeer and mint and salt. My hands are everywhere and sweat drips into my eyes.

Ron watches me with a strange expression on his face. He bites his lip and none me in the flailing.

"This is fun," I sigh.

I twirl and realize that at some point Ron has danced us towards the Floo.

"We need to go," he says.

"They'll think," I pout.

He rolls his eyes and grabs my hand.

"Let them," he says.

He calls out our destination, grabs my face, and kisses me fiercely. And so I am whisked away home.

His fingers creep under my shirt. I make a nondescript sound.

"Hello, boys," George says.

I pull away from Ron and swat him.

"Again with the kissing!" I say.

He shrugs and glances down.

"You didn't seem to mind," he says.

"I minded!" I say.

Fred coughs.

"Fun times?" he asks.

Ron flushes red.

"It was amazing," I say.

They cross their arms simultaneously. I still haven't figured out how they do that.

"Next time you take us," George says.

"Or we could mention it to Mum…" Fred says.

I roll my eyes. Cool. Calm. Collected. Act like you snog their brother all the time.

"It's not exactly for the… straight at heart," I say.

I last a second before I start to snicker. Ron's eyes go wide and then he laughs, clasping his hand over his mouth. His freckled nose wrinkles. I stop laughing.

"We _knew_ that. You're both wearing _skinny_ _jeans,"_ Fred says.

"And Harry's wearing eyeliner," George says.

"Not to mention…"Fred begins.

Ron sputters. I smile.

"Next time you'll come with us," I say.

I pull Ron upstairs and shut our door.

"Use your words," I laugh.

Ron frowns. I shuck off my clothes and reclaim Ron's sweats. I pick a shirt from the floor.

"Why my clothes?" he asks.

I shrug and tuck into bed.

"They're warmer than mine," I say.

He doesn't say anything. I feel him climbing into my bed behind me. I should push him off.

"And what's wrong with yours?" I ask.

I can feel his lips curve against my shoulder. His hand holds my waist. I sigh and close my eyes.

"Yours is warmer than mine," he whispers.


	3. Chapter 3

"Sooner or later the articles will come," I say.

"You knew that. Is that _my_ sweater?" Ron asks.

"It has an 'R' on it, Ron," George says.

I choke down a laugh and press a finger against George's mouth. We make our way down the stairs as quietly as possible, which is quite loud.

"Are you worried about the trial, Harry?" Fred asks in my ear as we crowd into the Floo.

"I'll worry tomorrow," I say.

I lead the twins into the crush and throw my hands into the air. George grips my waist in his hands, a possessive and bruising hold. Fred dances freely in front of me.

"Where's Ron?" Fred yells.

I throw my head backwards against George, who tightens his hold.

"I don't care," I reply.

"Good answer," George growls.

We stay out for five songs before Fred fades away. I turn to face George.

"I'll have bruises," I say.

"Like this one?" George asks.

His fingers trace the small bruise on my neck that I didn't bother to cover.

"In a way," I say, swaying out of reach.

He pulls my hand to his face.

"Want another?" he asks.

I smile.

"Wouldn't match my scarf," I say.

I twist away and land in Blaise's arms.

"Blaise," I say.

The corner of his mouth twitches upwards.

"I'd wondered if you'd gone blind. Twins?" he asks.

"I'd notice you for miles, snake," I say.

His smile grows predatory.

"Dance with me, kitten," he says.

Compliance comes easily. The music fades.

We've migrated to the edge of the floor.

"Who gave you this?" Blaise asks.

"Seamus Finnegan," I say offhandedly.

His eyes narrow. Quick as a flash his fingers are bunched in the neck of "my" sweater and he's pulling me towards the wall.

"This thing is filthy," he mutters and then he's pressing me against it.

Our mouths meet in hot and dangerous pursuit. This boy is deadly. He tastes like rebellion. He tastes like fire.

I let his mouth trail down, littering my skin with bruises from my jaw down to my collarbone. He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his back. My breath catches and I let loose a little sigh.

"Wait," I breathe.

He looks up at me.

"There's no such thing as special," he says.

"There is something to be said for cleanly," I wrinkle my nose, "safe, and reasonably private."

"You utter virgin!" Blaise accuses with a smile.

"Guilty as charged," I say.

He presses his lips against mine again and sets me on the ground. I break away, breathless.

"If Seamus Finnegan cuts in before me I'll break his dick off," Blaise says.

"Of this I have no doubt," I say.

He eyes my chin and smiles in satisfaction.

"Dance on, kitten," he says.

I stumble away bruised and aroused, probably looking like I truly belong in a place like this.

Ron dances half heartedly with Seamus (here again, I see.) You could fit an entire person in the space between them, so I do my best to do so and divert their attention from how thoroughly debauched I must look.

Seamus notices anyway. I wipe the spit from my jaw and smile.

"Hello, there," I say.

"Harry," Ron says.

"Been looking for me?" I ask.

"I'm thirsty. Think you can manage a drink on the floor?" he asks instead.

I shake my head. Multi tasking is not one of my talents. We wave to Seamus and bump our way free. I dance half a song with two very drunk strangers while Ron stakes out a table and orders us both Firewhiskey.

The witch behind the counter gave it to him, with no questions.

Fred and George surface then, shaking a pretty wizard off their arms and smiling.

"Firewhiskey, Harry?" Fred asks.

"I'm indulging," I say.

Ron glares at my neck.

"I've noticed," he said.

Fred takes a large gulp of my glass.

"You're no fun, Ronniekins," he says.

I swat him.

"Why do you go out with this grump anyway?" George asks.

I laugh.

"Ditches me first chance he gets," Ron says.

He doesn't seem upset, so I pay little attention to what they say next.

"Oh the waters are _fine_ ," I say.

I catch Blaise's eye. He winks and licks the ear of the wizard he's with.

I laugh.

"What is it?" George asks.

"Blaise Zabini trying to make me jealous," I say.

I take a tentative sip of my drink. It nips at my throat, proving it deserves the name fire.

"Is it working?" George asks.

I laugh and take a larger sip. I don't get jealous.

"You're all so blatantly jealous. Haven't you ever learned to share your toys?" I ask.

Ron chokes and Fred laughs out loud. George leans over and bites my ear. I yelp.

"You only share the ones you don't like," he says.

"Don't bite, it's mean," I say.

"It's not like you'll notice another mark," Ron grumbles.

I flick him and draw my knees upward into my chair.

"I'm tired. I'll stay with the old man. Go dance," I say.

"Actually," Fred says.

"Mum will be up soon," George finishes.

I sigh.

"No fun, the lot of you," I say.

* * *

"How are you going to hide all of those?" Ron asks.

"Glamours. And a scarf, if Mad Eye's going to be around," I say.

Ron stares at my jaw. I swallow.

"Tension exists only on the floor," I say.

No matter where I am, I have no ties.

"It makes for an exciting dance but a dull life, Ron. Don't be dull," I add.

Beneath the lights I play at them, letting the boys grasp at the frayed edges. Maybe I'm cruel, but inside of the little nightclub with many rules and no enforcement, everything is different. Nothing that happens inside of the little nightclub counts past the sunrise.

To mean something, it can't happen in a gritty bathroom or in a crowd of sweaty, drunken men. Maybe there is no "special". But there is certainly some dignity.

Some meaning, even if it depends more on my "sinful" pants than my personality.

Maybe it's cruel, but I know what I'm looking for and I won't find it in a nightclub.

Ron's face is lit dimly from the crack in the door.

"Of course not, Harry. Good luck tomorrow, " he says.


End file.
